Wanted Woman Page 14

  “We don’t think he acted alone in the kidnapping. We need to find out how he ties in,” Jesse said. He quickly filled his brother in on everything. When he finished, Mitch was looking at Maggie with open admiration. Jesse couldn’t help but smile since he had to admit his choices in women in the past had left something to be desired.

  “So,” Maggie said when he’d finished. “We realized the best approach would be for me to announce who I am at the party tonight and see how it shakes down from there.”

  “Rozalyn Sawyer’s party?” Mitch cried, echoing his brother’s earlier surprise. “We decided? Are you nuts?”

  Jesse shrugged. “I felt the same way when Maggie first came up with the idea.”

  “Maggie?” Mitch asked.

  “I was raised as Maggie Randolph,” she said. “I’m going to need a dress for tonight. Can your fiancée help me with that?”

  “Charity?” Mitch looked to his brother. “You aren’t suggesting—”

  They heard Charity’s car pull up out front.

  “She’s going to hear about it tonight anyway,” Jesse pointed out.

  Mitch was holding his head as if it ached. “Do either of you have a clue what you’re about to do?”

  Jesse smiled. “I have an inkling. Maggie’s in for a surprise.”

  Charity came through the door just then. Maggie hadn’t been sure what to expect given the way the men were acting.

  A beautiful woman about her own age with a long mass of reddish blond curly hair swept in. She had bright blue eyes and instantly Maggie felt drawn to her.

  “You must be Charity Jenkins,” Maggie said, going to greet her. “I’ve read a great many of your newspaper articles. You write very well.”

  Charity looked both surprised and confused and decidedly curious. As Mitch had done, Charity stared at her as if she thought she should know her.

  “I’m Angela Dennison and I need your help,” Maggie said.

  “Charity speechless. It’s a wonder to behold,” Jesse said as he took his future sister-in-law’s hand and led her to the couch across from Mitch and started to fill her in, as well.

  Charity, if anything, was a quick study. “You’re the one who stole my file.”

  Maggie nodded. “Sorry. Jesse has it. I kept all the stories in proper order.”

  Charity smiled at that and looked to Jesse. “Is she really—”

  “We’ll have the DNA test results by tonight,” Jesse said, “Maggie wants to make her announcement at the party.”

  Charity looked at Maggie. “You’re using yourself as bait?” she asked, cutting right to the chase.

  “Something like that. I’m going to need a dress,” Maggie said. “One that I can hide a small handgun in. Can you help me?”

  Charity had been watching Jesse and Maggie while they’d told their story. Now she looked at Mitch and smiled that sly matchmaking smile of hers.

  Mitch groaned, knowing it was impossible to stop Charity without telling her that Maggie might be his half sister—and Jesse’s. That was one can of worms that would be opened soon enough.

  Charity stood. “Come on. You’re about my size. Let’s see what we can find in my closet. I live next door. So you and Jesse just met?”

  As they went out the door, Mitch shook his head. “Dad know about this?”

  “Yep. He already gave me his DNA test.”

  Mitch looked up at him in surprise. “Then it’s possible…”

  Jesse nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so.”

  “This is a damned dangerous plan.”

  Jesse couldn’t agree more. “That’s why I want you there, carrying. I might need all the help I can get. I don’t expect the kidnapper to make a move at the party—”

  “You’re hoping for some reaction though, aren’t you?” Mitch said. “How are you planning to protect her after the party? Especially if this Seattle cop is determined to get to her?”

  Jesse took a breath and let it out slowly. “For starters, not let her out of my sight.”

  Mitch just looked at him.

  “What?”

  “You’ve got it bad for this woman.”

  “Bro, I can’t explain it. That’s why I have to get those DNA test results and get my head around however they come out.”

  “Charity’s going to flip when she finds out that I’ve been keeping this secret for all these years,” Mitch said.

  Jesse smiled at his brother. “I think she’ll still marry you. Anyway, June is a long way off. She might not even still be mad at you by then.”

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Maggie asked as they left Mitch’s and took back roads as they had earlier. She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail and was wearing a baseball cap that Charity had lent her.

  “My dad’s house. His name is Lee Tanner. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him.”

  Her look said she’d make up her own mind about that.

  He liked that about her. He liked a lot of things about her. He just wished he knew for sure who her father was if she really was Angela Dennison. Until he did, he’d have to keep her at arm’s length. And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rupert Blackmore had brought a tent but the rain changed his mind about camping. He checked into the only motel in town, the Ho Hum. He used cash, but he wasn’t worried about being recognized—not with his old pickup, fishing hat and gear.

  He liked to think that the only person who knew him in this town was Margaret Randolph and he was looking for her—not the other way around.

  Of course he couldn’t be sure her kidnapper didn’t also know him—just not in this disguise. Nor was the kidnapper expecting him to turn up in Timber Falls, right?

  He was pleasantly surprised how small the town was. Finding her should be easy—if she was still around. He figured after him almost catching her last night at Dennison Ducks she would have split. Since she hadn’t already gone to his superiors or the Feds, he figured she wouldn’t. This could be the end of it. No one in this town would ever have to know of her existence.

  He spent the day fishing, keeping his eye out for her, but deciding to take advantage of where he was. Hell, he might as well consider this a little vacation. Admittedly, he was relieved he wasn’t going to have to kill her.

  She was rich. She’d return to Seattle. She’d keep her mouth shut. He’d retire and move to Arizona. None of this would ever have to come out.

  He’d convinced himself that everything was going to work out as he drove through town, stopping at the gas station. A teenager came out to pump his gas.

  Rupert got out of the truck and walked back to the rest room on the side of the building. When he came back out after using the facilities, he saw that the kid was washing his windows so he wandered into the office.

  It was one of those old gas stations with nothing more than a counter and a pop machine in the office, an attached single-bay garage and two pumps.

  As he was leaving, he picked up a newspaper, leaving thirty-five cents on the counter.

  He walked back out to his pickup, paid cash for the gas and sat for a moment as the kid went back inside, paying no attention to him.

  His hands shook as he read the story about Daisy Dennison of the famed Dennison Ducks decoys. He remembered the bumper sticker he’d seen on the guy’s pickup that night, the night a man he’d never seen before met him in a deserted warehouse parking lot and handed over a wriggling baby wrapped in a tiny quilt with little yellow ducks on it.

  He’d put the bundle on the passenger seat, looking up as the pickup and driver took off into the night. That’s when he’d seen the sticker and the muddy Oregon plates. He couldn’t make out the plate number. Even then had he planned to find out where the baby was from? Probably. After all he was being blackmailed and now he had a clue who his blackmailer was. A Dennison Ducks bumper sticker on the back of the retreating pickup. Timber Falls, Oregon. Home of the famous decoys.

  He pulled away from the service station
, reminding himself that he’d been a good cop. Before and even after that one fateful night.

  He’d been young, a little too cocky, a little too convinced that he wasn’t just going to save the world, he was going to be one of those cops who got commendations all the time on television and in the newspapers.

  And he had, despite what happened that night thirty years ago. It was a convenience store robbery and he and his partner were just around the block. They came screaming up in the patrol car just as the perpetrator took off down the dark alley.

  Rupert had been the first one out of the car. He ran down the alley. It was so dark. He’d yelled for the perp to stop, heard him climbing a chain-link fence at the end of the alley and in what little light there was, fired.

  The pressure had been on him to succeed. He’d found out that Teresa had another guy interested in her, he wanted to look good and prove to her she was marrying the right guy.

  He had wanted the bust. Needed it.

  But when he neared the fence and the downed body lying in the pool of blood, he saw that it wasn’t the perp at all but a kid of not more than nine, shot once in the back of the head.

  He’d been so upset, he’d dropped his gun. It had gone off and shot him in the leg. A freak accident. Unlike killing a nine-year-old boy in an alley. He must have been in shock after that, sick to his stomach, throwing up, barely conscious when his partner found him.

  By that time, his weapon was missing. Later he would realize that someone had come in behind him and picked it up carefully from the ground. An opportunist who saw that the gun with his fingerprints on it could be valuable in the future.

  His partner, a guy named Wayne Dixon, came upon the scene, saw Rupert on his knees, wounded, bloody and missing his gun and thought that the perp had overpowered him, taken his gun and shot him and the kid.

  Rupert had been in no condition to tell him he was wrong. Later… Well later, he’d let the lie stand. Telling the truth wouldn’t bring the kid back and would only hurt his career and his chances with Teresa.

  She’d come to see him at the hospital. He’d proposed on the spot and she’d accepted.

  He put the rest behind him, thinking it was over.

  Over until the night he got the call to meet the man in the warehouse parking lot. To get rid of a baby. And the blackmailer would get rid of the gun. He would never be contacted again, he’d been promised by the distorted voice on the phone.

  So he’d met the man at the warehouse parking lot, taken the baby but then the baby quilt had moved and a small cry emitted from deep inside. That had been his mistake, opening the quilt and looking down into that little face. It had taken his breath away.

  If there had been any way, he would have taken her home to Teresa. But he and Teresa had only been married a few years and he hadn’t known then that they would never have a child of their own. Plus how would he have explained the baby to her? He didn’t want her to know about the mistake he’d already made in his life. He would have done anything to keep her from knowing. He still would.

  He’d bundled the baby back up and driven away from that warehouse parking lot, heading for Puget Sound, thinking he would get rid of the baby and maybe the blackmailer would never contact him again. That was the deal, wasn’t it? And everyone knew blackmailers kept their word.

  Right.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t abhor being blackmailed. He guessed that was partly why he balked at the order and instead of getting rid of the baby in Puget Sound, he sold her to the Randolph’s attorney, Clark Iverson. The other reason was the money. He bought Teresa a house. He made some rich couple parents. For twenty-seven years everyone had been happy with the outcome.

  And then the adoptive father got sick, stumbled on the truth and decided his daughter needed to know so she could be united with her biological parents.

  And Rupert Blackmore, once a good cop, became a killer again.

  Not that he ever forgot about the bumper sticker on that pickup. Or the blackmailer. He’d done a little investigative work and found out who the baby was and that she’d been kidnapped. And then he’d let it go, thinking he had a place to start looking for the blackmailer if he ever heard from him again.

  A few months ago he’d read about Bud Farnsworth being killed and that he had been the alleged kidnapper. Rupert had recognized the guy in the newspaper article. He was the man who’d brought him the baby. But it had been clear that night that this Farnsworth guy was working for someone else—someone he feared.

  Now Rupert Blackmore wondered if Margaret Randolph had seen this story? Would she be so stupid as to knock on the Dennison family door and tell them who she thought she was? Tell them about what had happened at the pier?

  No one would be that stupid, especially given the mess the Dennison family was in right now.

  He tossed the newspaper on the floor and drove down Main Street toward his motel. Maybe he’d stay around another day. Just to make sure Margaret wasn’t still around.

  He drove past the sheriff’s department. It was little more than a narrow building that shared half the space with city hall. From what he’d heard, the town sheriff had been shot and his brother was acting deputy. The brother had little to no experience, so he wasn’t too worried about either of them.

  At the edge of town, he pulled into the only café. If Margaret had been stupid enough to go to the Dennisons this morning then it would be all over town by now and he’d been in enough dinky towns to know where to find the gossip in this one.

  Still wearing his sunglasses, he parked and went inside Betty’s Café, making a point of sitting by the window in the sunlight.

  A fiftysomething bottle blonde came out from behind the counter with a menu and a glass of ice water. She set both down in front of him.

  “Still got cherry, butterscotch and chocolate pie,” she said. “Homemade.”

  Rupert looked up at her after a cursory glance at the menu. “I’ll take a cheeseburger loaded, fries, a chocolate milkshake and a piece of the cherry pie,” he said.

  She smiled. She wasn’t bad-looking, but hey, he was no Prince Charming. And her name tag read: Betty.

  “Bigfoot hunting or fishing?” she asked, clearly taking him for a nonlocal.

  “I’ve never heard of Bigfoot fishing,” he said flirting with her a little. What the hell? He figured it couldn’t hurt. “How exactly is that done?”

  She brightened to his smile. “Everythin’ bites if you got’s the right bait,” she said murdering the expression.

  He laughed. “I don’t care if they bite. I just like fishing.”

  “That’s good because this isn’t the best time of year for fishing around here,” she said eyeing him.

  “But it’s quiet and the river isn’t crowded.”

  “Can’t argue that,” she said and went to place his order.

  She came back to the counter where she had a cup of coffee she’d been drinking before he came in.

  “I’ve never been up here before,” he said to her and turned to look out at the deserted street. “Is it always this quiet?”

  She shook her head. “Everyone’s getting ready for the party tonight.”

  “Party?”

  “Sawyers. The daughter, Rozalyn, returned to town and she’s throwing a party. Just redid this old Victorian on the edge of the town. You might have seen it on your way in?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s kinda back off the road. Great old house.” She sipped her coffee. “You staying at the Ho Hum?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll probably hear the party then,” she said with a laugh. “I hope you aren’t a light sleeper.”

  He shook his head. “I sleep like the dead.”

  A bell dinged and she went to get his meal. As she slid the food across the table to him, several more customers came in. They looked like regulars. They glanced at him, took him for what he appeared to be, and sat down.

  Outside, low dark clouds scudded past
. It looked like it was going to rain any minute.

  He ate, listening to Betty talking to the other customers. A no-big-news day. Good. Except for this party tonight. Sounded like the entire town would be there.

  He ate his burger and fries and watched the street. No fancy motorcycle went past. No word circulating of a young woman in town looking for her past.

  Yep, she’d fled town. He finished off his milkshake, cleaned his plate and started on the pie.

  But, he wondered, what would she do next? What could she do? She had no proof. It would be his word against hers. If she couldn’t go to the cops and she couldn’t run, wouldn’t she have to return to Seattle? The woman was rich. Her father had left her dozens of businesses around the world. She would have to return to Seattle eventually.

  Sure he’d put an APB out on her, but that was just for questioning in the murders. It was possible he could reach some sort of deal with her. Once she understood that she was only alive because he’d spared her.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill her. He liked the idea more than he wanted to admit.

  And then he would just fade away into the background. Arizona. It was far enough away that she’d feel safe.

  He was feeling good by the time he left a big tip for Betty and headed for his motel room. Maybe he’d take a nap and come back later for the dinner special: Pork chops and dressing, applesauce, green beans, mashed potatoes and pork gravy.

  The kidnapper would never know that he hadn’t held up his end of the bargain.

  LEE TANNER came out onto the deck as Jesse drove the pickup into the yard and shut off the motor. Lee’s gaze went to the young woman who climbed out. He looked like he’d been cold-cocked with a sledgehammer.

  She had that effect on people. Maybe especially on Lee Tanner given how much the woman looked like Desiree.

  “Maggie, meet my father, Lee Tanner,” Jesse said as they climbed the steps to the house.

  Lee extended a hand. Maggie took it. “You’re Angela,” he said. It wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway. “I just finished lunch but I could—”

  “We’ve eaten,” Jesse said cutting his father off. Charity had cooked up lunch, all the time talking fifty miles an hour with Maggie. Hadn’t he known they would hit it off?